


My boss

by KuRou28



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, Gen, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Mycroft, See how it goes, i dunno yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuRou28/pseuds/KuRou28
Summary: I looked at Mycroft and thought about Sherlock's tells of him and his world  of goldfishes.And i realized that, when all this was over, I'd be left alone, barely breathing and completely broken. I'd be sad and miserable. It'd be so painfull that i might never be able to enjoy life again.Which is great. Fantastic. Tempting!Oh how i cant wait for that day to come.My name is Julie Jasmine Joyce, i'm the new secretary of Mycroft Holmes - a minor government official, and i think i'm having a massive crush on him.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 45





	1. A brief description of my new job

**Author's Note:**

> Lately i've been obsessed with Mycroft.  
> So this is my first attempt of Sherlock fanfic. I still don't know where this will so yet. But i hope i'll be able to finish it.  
> Unbeta.  
> I'm really sorry if there's any spelling or grammar fault. English is not my first language.  
> Thank you for reading.  
> U3U

It's 7:50 on monday, i was sitting at my desk, having my first morning coffee and chatting with Lloyd - a colleague from upper floor, when he arrived at the office. He's in his usual three-piece suit, with matching tie, polished shoes, and umbrella in hand. He glowed with hard, cold intelligence and perfect composure. I heard something flip and flutter in my tummy looking at him. It felt funny.

"Good morning, sir." I beamed at him, showing my sweetest smile with pink cheeks and creased eyes. (Not that i didn't smile that sweetly with everyone.) "Miss Athena have news for you, sir." I said, as Lloyd stumbled a greeting.

Mycroft Holmes glanced sharply at me for talking a little ~~(a lot)~~ too much for his liking, at the empty paper cup in my hand and Lloyd standing next to my desk, then gave me a light nod and entered his room, closing the door behind him.

"Have a nice da-" My voice was cut by the clicked door. I chuckled, so _this_ kind of people annoyed him, better stop acting that way then. What would a love struck young woman feel, being ignored by the one she liked? Disappointed? Mostly lost and a bit sad, yet hopeful, or angry sometimes, depended on her personality. I searched inside myself for traces of those emotions. There was nothing. I sighed inwardly. 

Lloyd shuddered, "That's your boss? How can you work for such a guy?", he huffed. "He's like ice!"

I mentally rolled my eyes, _"Cause i'm not dumb, of course."_ , but grinned at the taller man and said reluctantly. "He's a good boss, really." I tilted my head, looking at the clock and patting Lloyd on the side. "Back to your lair now, i have work to do."

The man sniffed a laugh, "I'll see you at lunch?". He stepped backward, not breaking eye contact with me and bouncing on his feet. As i nodded, he whisked his way toward the stairs with a triumph smirk on his lips.

I started sorting email for the day (important, unimportant, urgent, less urgent, promo and ads and banals, the sort). I scanned Mycroft's schedule for the week that Athena sent me at 7 this morning, noting the changes from my version at 6, then proceeded on arranging his meetings for the next two weeks. Athena had her own schedule as well. It's funny how she's only with Mycroft one third of the time, considered she's his PA. But it's not my place to question or comment on that.

Me? I'm the five-months-old secretary of this department, which consisted of only Mycroft, Athena and me (and perhaps three dozens secret subordinates, but we must not know about that.) So technically, Athena was my direct boss, and Mycroft was my boss' boss, but she didn't make my chest tickled the way he did. While Mycroft seemed to like spending most of his time in his closed office, he tended to have lots of meetings to attend, which meant he's not here all that often. So did Athena. But my job's to always be presented at the office, taking care of mundane tasks, keeping the façade of a _minor government position._ I felt kinda like a guardian, an extremely petite four foot eleven guardian with a face too young for her own good.

.

I met Lloyd at a small café across the building at noon. We ate while telling the other about our job (noted, complaining).

"I think it's my first time seeing your boss, right?" Lloyd brought up the subject smoothly. "Is he always like that?"

"You mean Mr.Holmes?" I asked innocently. That's my cue to start spilling out every (selected) details that i found weird at work, and some more.

"She's out this afternoon. Again!" I huffed, then pouted. "I thought PAs were supposed to be there 24/7."

"Wait, so there's only you and Mr.Holmes at the office this afternoon?" Lloyd asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Uh-huh." I swallowed the rest of my pasta and nodded.

The grin on his face grew a little too wide, which would slip my mind if i wasn't paying attention.

Unfortunately, i was.

.

At 3:50, Lloyd passed by my desk, offering me a coffee break.

"I shouldn't leave my place. What if something comes up? Or someone important calls?" I said worriedly.

"It'll be fine." The man laughed, "i can take over for a few minutes. Miss Athena doesn't even have to know.", he suggested.

"Really?" I brightened up at him, already standing up and stretching my legs. "I'll be back in 5s."

I secretly tapped the button under the desk, then stepped to the side, bumping my shoulder into his arm on the way out. Lloyd is at least six foot tall, definitely built and well trained under that cream button up. I wouldn't be a match for him, size and strength.

I'd have to act faster.

I stood facing the man, face shy and rose, grabbing his tie to pull him down for a quick peck. While he happily obliged, i reached my other hand to his nape, tapping there with the tiny needle hidden inside the silver ring on my middle finger, hard.

Lloyd jerked away, almost knocking me in the process. But before he could curse or chock my throat, the poison kicked in and made his legs wobble. I immediately pull my hair pin. Stabbed. The flower pin was deep in the side of his neck. Then pushed. I was out of his arm reach, falling backward from the force. My bum and lower back hit the floor with a loud " _thud"_. The man stared at me angrily, struggling. My metal pin still stubbornly stuck in its' place. That too, was covered in poison.

Lloyd was out in less than one minute, crimson blood oozing out from the wound, quickly staining his shirt. Pity. He had such handsome face.

I checked the man again for pulses and weapons. No pulse, one muted short gun, two set of knives, and a hidden blade under his shoes. Will need further examine to find any identity mark.

I wondered why he didn't just shoot me. That'd had save him a lot of time and effort, and apparently, his own life. Poor man, he didn't.

Athena opened the door of her office after two knocks. (Mycroft's was actually the room hidden behind this one.) I'd just finished reporting the situation to her when a team arrived to clean the mess. Athena gave me her signature smirk, lips barely curled up, hands still tapping away on her blackberry, mysterious and attractive, which i returned with a faint smile.

Then, back to sending emails and coloring timetable.

.

I worked from 8.am to 6.pm, standard office hour. But Mycroft worked longer, i doubted he'd ever leave before 8. Which mean i'd only meet him at his arrival, or when he went back and forth between meetings. Which was way less than i'd preferred. But hey, better then nothing, i guessed.

.

The next day, when i gave a formal "good morning, sir", Mycroft looked at me for a second longer, then nodded.

"Excellent service, Miss Joyce. I'll make sure you're rewarded accordingly." He said in a polite monotone, even, controlled. His words held power, definite and finalized. His voice made me want to blush like a teenage girl. (Not that i used to blush when i _was_ a teenage girl, but now i wanted to.)

"My pleasure, sir." I replied in a proper manner.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything before disappearing behind the wood door.

Ah, so my plan of climbing the ladder to Mycroft had finally have some improvement. I can feel excitement rushed through my veins. Mycroft made me feel _things_.

And i don't feel, as in, ever!

.

I didn't want to say i was a peculiar child, but i probably was.

Mother said i wasn't difficult as a baby or a toddler, rather too easy to influence than expected. I'd simply pick up the nearest person to me, and start acting like them. Meaning if my mum smiled, i'd smiled, the same as when she laughed or frowned; and i'd only cried or threw a tantrum if the children around me did so.

I started asking weird question when i was around nine, watching movies and reading more books.

<< _Why is she crying?_ Because she's sad. _Why is she sad?_ Her beloved pet got lost somewhere/Her dress got ripped and she can't go to the ball/Her grandfather passed away/Her lover rejected her/etc./etc. _And why is she crying when she is sad?_ That's what we do, to express our emotions. _But why?_ (...) _How do you know when you are sad?_ (...) _What does it feel like to be sad?_ (...) _What is sadness?_ (...)>>

<< _What does it mean, to laugh or wail or yell, to be happy or sad or scared, to be loved and love back? >> _

I didn't understand! I couldn't related to any of that! Not any expressions, or actions, or _Emotions_. I got angry for not able to understand it. _Why? Why? WHY?_ I got so angry i'd hit my friends at school when they were playing, laughing, or even crying. They'd hit me back and i'd still feel nothing aside from the physical pain.

After almost a year, i still didn't understand, but i wasn't angry anymore. It's tiring, being angry all the time. So i dropped the matter and started copying the others instead. Just do what they do. Act like them. Act Normal.

But i wasn't.

When my parents died in a car crash, i was fourteen. _Oh,_ i thought. I didn't even miss them.

Aunt Patrica got worried when i kept a blank face for months after their death. She said it wasn't healthy to bottle up my feelings like that. _What feelings,_ i wondered. I read in a book about how people grive. Then i hugged her, cried so hard i couldn't breath, and stayed in that state for hours till i fell asleep. Slowly, i smiled faintly now and then, a bit more after time, and she never mentioned it again.

Naturally, i studied psychologie. Emotions. What are they really? Which situations cause them? How they manifeste physically? How they impact a person's behavior? And so on.

I was twenty-five when i saw Mycroft for the first time. He was frowning at some agents, scolding them for loosing trace of his brother. His voice was calm, stern, not harsh in anyway, but the men were visibly shaken. His eyes were blue like iceberg, cold like one too. His gaze was penetrating, strict, yet distant.

My heart was suddenly pounding in my chest and drumming in my ears. My stomach churned, and flipped, and twisted. My hands started sweating. And something bloomed inside me. Something i didn't know yet. And another one, joy, if i remembered the description correctly.

I was overwhelm by excitement.

There was _something!_

.

That was Mycroft Holmes, my boss, a completely normal officials.

The man i killed yesterday was a hired assassin who appeared three weeks ago as Lloyd Flont, an IT engineer working two floors above us. He carefully greeted my whole floor (which had absolute nothing to do with his field of work), but raised my suspicion when he lingered by my desk. And saying "I'm interested in you" simply was not convincing enough. His flirting was, meh? He wasn't a bad agent, i didn't think they'd ever hire someone other than _good_ to do this job. But more than being careless, he was arrogant. He underestimate me, for i seemed naive and harmless.

And i, caught in the mist of all this, was the second best trainee for MI5 class XYXX. (The best one was offered further training, probably for MI6 (if it existed for real), the top 20 were admitted in MI5, and i got this job.)

Hah! Having a MI5 trained for a secretary.

_Minor position my Arse!_


	2. Meeting Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to set this fic at about a year after the end of s2, with some minor (major) changes in the pairing dynamics.  
> Basically JohnLock was canon before the Fall. So the poor Doctor Watson didn't just lost his best friend, he's lost the love of his life.  
> Please be gentle with him (in the upcoming chapters).  
> Thank you for reading.  
> U3U

My nose was sticking on the computer screen when the shadow of a man loomed over my head. I craned my neck to have a better look at him.

The man was tall, lean, may be a little underweight under those worn out baggy clothes and long felt jacket. He appeared tired, with red blood strains in his pale blue eyes and lines that screamed exhaustion all over his feature. His hair was long and messy, dripping with sweat and sticking on his forehead. Most of his face was covered in beard and something resembled dried blood.

"Where's my brother?" He asked me, voice low, cracked and dry.

I tapped my mobile, then smiled up at him politely. "Mr.Holmes is on the phone wrapping up a meeting, sir. Please wait a moment."

A year ago, this man was dragged in a huge scandal that caused him to jumped of a building, something about fake genius. It was all over the news. People was sure he was dead, like dead dead, his reputation crushed beyond repaire. Yet here he stood, steady and proud, looking like he just stepped out of a war zone. The infamous Consulting Detective.

I wondered if he'd bat an eyelash at me and dismissed me as stupid and dull. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, "You like _Mycroft_.".

"Excuse me?"

"You! You're well trained in combat. Obviously, being in that position. You have dance classes twice a week, base on the extra paire of shoes under the chair and the member card in your purse. You have a string of lover, none of them last over three months. You're always looking for something new and exciting. That explains the number of badly written melodrama novels you read a month. You need stimulation. So why this tedious desk job when you can do field work? Emotional attachment is the closest answer. Who, then?" He scrunched his nose in disdain. "Your pupil grows, your cheeks turns red, and your eyes _twinkle_ at the mention of his name." He huffed in disbelief, like he didn't think anyone can physically do that.

"I did?" I sounded way too cheerful for that, which was totally not how he was expecting me to react.

I fished a mirror from my bag, then looked at my reflection. My cheeks had turned a lovely shade of pink, highlighting the few freckles on my nose and cheekbone. My grin'd grown wider, my eyes actually shined like they'd got stars in them. _This_ , this was progression.

I glanced back at Sherlock. The man was still frowning at me, his lips pouting out in spite.

"People weren't supposed to _like_ Mycroft. They're just his goldfish."

"And you weren't supposed to be alive, sir."

This made his mouth clamped shut.

I got a text from Athena, replied, then tilted my chin to meet his stare. "You can come in now, sir." My smile didn't fade, or was it force or stiff. It was professional, although the things he's just said made me look otherwise.

Later that afternoon, bandages and medicine were sent to the office, along with an expensive suit, a new paire of shoes, perfume, and a well-known hairdresser.

Another man walked out of that room, unbelievably handsome, confident, utterly clever. _The Sherlock Holmes_.

He passed by my desk again when i was gathering my stuff to leave. He glared at me for a long moment, brows knitting together. Then another thought made his face relax and brighten up, his lips curled into a smirk.

"I'd buy some ice pack if i were you." I said, "Bonne soirée, Mr.Detective.".

He's no longer paying attention to me.

.

I took the tube to the dance studio, chuckling to myself.

Sherlock seemed to be taken aback by my reaction. _I_ was taken aback by my reaction. It's been half a year since i stared working here and met Mycroft. While he always made me feel lightheaded and my tummy drum, my "crush" for him hasn't grow an inch, or has it died down a fraction, even after i've killed a man for him. Work was work.

The thing was, my appearance was what i wanted to show, including blushing and seeming awestruck. It took me years to master that skill. I didn't have enough emotions to display unconsciously like that.

 _Now_ , we're going somewhere!

.

I went out for dinner with Lily, a friend from highschool, after dance class, then stuck as a recycle bin for her office dramas for nearly two hours.

It's almost midnight when i got back to my small flat. My feet hurt and i was tipsy. My lock was picked, the shoes were knocked on eachother, and there were melting ice cube all over the kitchen counter. My guard went up automatically as i tipped softly on my toe into the sitting room.

I turned the light on as a voice startled me.

"How did you know?" I was going to throw a knife at him. God, i almost kill Mycroft's brother. He'd skin me alive, then butchered my body and throw me to a bunch of hyenas.

I took a few deep breaths, eyeing the man sitting on my couch warily. Sherlock had a black eye, and a bloody nose, and some scratches around the neck. He's pressing an ice packet on the side of his face. That's definitely the ice from my fridge and my kitchen towel. He's pouting, apparently has been sulking the whole night.

"Let me guess. He hit you, right?" I raised a brow as the man pouted even more.

"You have eyes. Do put them to good use. Now, i'm asking you. How did you know?"

I actually laughed out loud, which made the man huffed in annoyance. "Please, anyone with an ounce of common sense and a brief of your _history_ would know that, Mr.Holmes. It's predictable. Though i wasn't entirely sure, your appearance now has just confirmed my assumption, sir."

I've, in fact, read Doctor Watson's file at least twice. (Not the full version of course, that's classified, and totally an invasion of privacy. But i've been following Mycroft's schedule for the last six months, during which he met the man once every three or four weeks. I was also keeping him updates on "the good doctor's", as Mycroft called him, routines.) So i did have some vague impression of him.

Doctor John Watson was an honorable man, brave, sweet, loyal, and people seemed to take his kindness for granted far too much. (Not that he's all perfect with that temper of his. Beside, perfection wouldn't survive this world.) But most of all, he was _whipped_ for Sherlock Holmes. They were the loveliest couple on the internet.

When Sherlock'd died, John was shattered, broken to the bone. It'd taken four months of intense surveillance and therapy for him to _not_ commit suicide. He was barely finding his balance back, and still struggling to stay afloat.

And now, Sherlock was back like a storm sweeping him of his feet, one more time.

"And you're breaking into my flat because...?"

"He got angry with me, insisting that i should've told him, that he could've helped. It's illogical! If there were better ways, i'd have gone with it. There were thirteen possibilities, all of which i've got plans down to the second. Involving him'd make too many variables, too many scenarios, too much risk." He rumbled through gritted teeth, eyes drilling a hole down my carpeted floor. "It's the only way!"

"Not to him." I sighed, my head hurt, i wasn't payed enough for this. "Look, he has his own reasoning, so he doesn't understand yours. And vice versa. He'd always think that he could have help." He's _John Watson_ after all.

"Why? Why can't he see? It's obvious!" Sherlock growled under his breath, his frown deep on his forehead, his free hand flexing in and out by his side.

I wanted to slap him with my slipper, shove him out the door and seethe to his face, _"How should i know? I don't even have sympathy for him."._

Instead, i said, "Because he loves you, Mr.Holmes. He loves you. Which means he'd always put you first, regardless of his own safety."

"Sentiment!" Sherlock hissed angrily.

"But isn't it the reason why you jumps, sir? Because you care?" That seemed to have shut the detective up.

I narrowed my eyes at the man, crossing my arms in front of my chest and dropping down on the armchair across from him.

"He buried you. Do you know how it feels, to stand before your love one's grave, to watch him fall to his death right in front of your eyes, to spend days and night wondering if you could have done something, or blaming yourself for not see it coming?" I asked softly and let the thought slowly sink into the detective.

Sherlock was silent for a long moment. "No", he said hesitantly.

I almost scoffed to myself, _"I don't either."_ , just almost. "Doctor Watson's spent months grieving for you, and he was still mourning. You must give him time to process all of this." I gestured vaguely at the situation around. "Be patient with him."

Sherlock didn't respond. But the wires in his head were visibly spinning at lightning speed.

Watching him think exhausted me. So i stood up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. When i was back on the chair, my couch was already empty. My lock didn't make a sound.

I knew what i said, i studied psychology for it. Not that is was wrong or unconvincing, I just didn't relate to it.

.

Later that night, i lied in bed, comfortable on my fluffy pillow, under my duvet and surrounded by my bolster, and i dreamed about a figure, tall and pale, with thinning reddish brown hair and a blurry stern gaze. I let myself fall deeper into the warmth of cotton fabric, as the sound of his foot steps and the steady rythme of his voice, low and soothing, pushed me down, down, further down the darkness of my abyss.

I woke up smiling to myself. It must have been a lovely dream.

.

Two weeks later, Sherlock almost gave me a heart attack, again!

"He's being very difficult!" The detective was sulking on my couch, lounging on his back and kicking his long legs on the arm of the furniture.

I sighed exasperatedly and decided to ignore him and focus on the film on an illegal streaming web instead.

"I need your assistant." Sherlock said out of nowhere.

"Uhh.... no?" I scanned him quizzically.

"Come on. You like adventures. It'll be fun! Wayyy~~ better than that dull movie you're watching." He grinned charmingly at me, perking his head up and tilting it so that the light coated his cheekbone at the right angle.

"Why, Mr.Holmes?"

"Cause John refused to come back to work, insisting that he's _"very needed at the clinic"_." Sherlock mimicked the doctor sarcastically, then pressed his mouth into a pout. "He's not, by the way."

"How about Molly Hopper?" I've heard about her. She was a part of his grand escape scheme.

"Went to the crime scene with her once. Didn't workout that well." He said absentmindedly.

"But i know nothing about forensic." I raised my eyebrows at him.

"You'll do nicely." He nodded to himself.

"Umh, no, thank you." I replied simply. I had a fulltime job and lots of hobbies, no spare time for running about.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at me. "I'll tell you more about Mycroft."

Woa, he must've been really desperate to be selling his own brother like that.

"I thought you said people are like gold fish to him?"

"They are. He'll play with them, put them in a nice bowl, feed them tits and bits from time to time, then flush them down the drain when their worth hits zero." Sherlock mumbled with a displease expression on his face.

"That's not very encouraging, Mr.Holmes." I shook my head at him.

The detective seemed taken aback, probably realizing he must've spilled too much.

"But you _like_ challenges. Plus, you know nothing about him."

He was right.

Mycroft was extremely clever, serious, definitely more important than his document let on, much more powerful too, and my instinct told me that he's deadly dangerous. But aside from those obvious, i actually knew nothing more about him. Which might be the reason why my "feelings" for him hasn't changed one bit.

Since my imagination didn't automatically fill in the blank spaces (like the "delusional girl" type would), i'd have to get more information about him to feed this flare of emotions, keeping it going.

"Fine." I let out a long, defeated sigh, as Sherlock was all over my couch looking insufferably smug.

"Do we have a deal then, Mr.Holmes?" I rolled my eyes and stretched a hand at him.

"Sherlock is fine." He said, and gave my hand a firm clasp.

Right, let's see how it'll go.


	3. Becoming a babysitter, sort of

When i thought the breaking in thing was over, Sherlock did it yet again.

I stepped out from the kitchen, a plate of salad in one hand and glass of water in the other, and saw him sitting on my couch, arms crossing on his chest and eyes squinting at me. He's upset, very, very upset. And he radiated "John" all over the place. I had to grip the glass so hard i thought it might crack.

"What now?" I placed the plate on the coffee table before pinching my forehead tiredly.

"He won't listen to me!" The detective huffed. "Why's he being so stubborn?"

"Aren't you suppose to be the smart one? Deduce it." I rolled my eyes, then flopped down the armchair and started digging in my diner.

"Have you apologized to him?" I asked, and Sherlock gave me a look that screamed "Of course not! Why should i apologize for something i don't regret?". I raised a brow at him, not entirely surprised.

"Try a flower bouquet and an " _I'm sorry!"_ note." I suggested through a mouthful of lettuce leaves. "Even if you don't mean it, hearing it would help." The two'd have a mutual understanding, and Doctor Watson'd at least get some kind of closure.

Sherlock huffed again, nose scrunching in irritation. Then he stood up, pat his coat, and narrowed his eyes at me with a blank face.

"Don't forget our deal." He said. I gave him a distracted wave over my shoulder, and continued chewing my diner.

.

The fourth time i came home to find my door ajar, (which was the very next evening), i voiced angrily from my shoes cabinet.

"Sherlock! Didn't i tell you to _not_ do this?"

But when i came into the living room, my head shut down completely, leaving me dead on my feet.

Sitting there on my couch, drinking expensive tea from definitely not my cup and saucer, was not Sherlock.

"Mr.Holmes?"

Mycroft didn't raise a brow. He sipped his tea, then placed it back on the table and leaned back gracefully, resting his back on the couch and folding his hands together above his knee. He gave me a pointed look, before gesturing at the armchair.

"Miss Joyce, lovely seeing you this evening. Please, do sit down."

I gulped and immediately obliged, though it seemed that i was still too slow, judging on the light frown on his forehead. Mycroft makes my heart speed unaturally, loudly too. God i haven't been this nervous since the first time i tried on the "nice and vanilla girl" façade.

"You don't need to look so tense. I'm not going to eat you." Mycroft chuckled, but his tone held no humor. "I'm merely here to discuss your recently rather close", he paused, considering the word, "acquaintance, with my brother. Apparently you have move on to the first-name basis." He stared at me with his cold blue eyes, calculating. "How, odd."

I breathed out as light as i can and offered him a weak smile. "He was looking for some advice for his, umh, romantic problem, sir."

Mycroft's mouth twitched ever so slightly, "Funny how he seek advice from a person whose relationships never last more than three months.". He must have gone through my record again, twice, just for this conversation.

"I really don't know why either, sir." I smiled apologetically at him, and shrugged, "He said i read too many melodrama novels.".

The man didn't take his eyes off me, an unreadable expression of his face. His gaze pierced through my body, pealing off all my masks and peering into my soul.

I wasn't scared of Mycroft, no. But i was afraid that if i make a wrong move, he'll get bored of me and ship me to Siberia, he won't let me stick about. And i _need_ to stay close to him, i want to _feel._

Silent went on for what seemed like forever. Then, he let out a long pained sigh, shaking his head tiredly.

"Very well. I shall compensate you for your lost of personal time with my wayward brother, as long as your presence is required. In the meantime, keep an eye on him for me, will you."

Mycroft stood up and walked pass me. He bended down from behind the armchair, whispering in my ear. His breath was warm by my neck, his cologne overwhelmed my sense.

"Be careful, Miss Joyce, for fire doesn't care who it's burning."

And like that, Mycroft was gone.

.

The following morning, i noticed a new cctv pointing at the front of my building from across the street.

Actually, i guested there were three.

.

[NSY now!] - SH

[i have works] - J

[Come here <<Address attached>> at once.] - SH

[You can leave early today. Enjoy the crime scene.] - MH

I sighed, packed my bag and hurried down the hall.

On my way to the pinned address, i received another text with brief description of the crime from Athena. Yep, definitely _not_ a minor official.

.

I arrived at the house block ten minutes later, there were four police cars, a dozen officers and security tape blocking every corner.

A woman, dark skin, brown eyes and crazy black curls, stopped me three feet from the front door of the abandon building.

"Sorry, no civilian is allowed here." / "She's my new assistant."

She said with a grim frown on her face at the same time as Sherlock poked his head from the window upstairs. Her frown grew harder, she eyes me skeptically.

"I said no! We don't need another _Freak_ to ruin the case." She spatted at me.

I thought i could hear Sherlock huffed loudly, then he sprinted down and out off the house toward us. Another man, an inspecter, older, with short grey hair and sturdy frame, followed him with a mix of worry and frustration on his face.

Sherlock reached me first, then he turned and glared at the female officer.

"Poor Sally, have your judgement died with each weight you- ouf-"

"Sergent Sally Donovan", i stepped in and elbowed Sherlock, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you.". I smiled brightly at her, offering a hand. "The office have a lot of praise on how brilliant you are. They call you "the hidden gem" of the team, did you know that?" I laughed softly, tilting my chin to make eyecontact.

Sally mouth parted in surprise, she flustered and shook my hand hesitantly.

"Now, i believe Sherlock is only here because his talent is much appreciated, is he not? And a great sergent like you wouldn't want to waste any moment to solve this crime and bring back justice, yeah? In that case, would you be so kind and lead the way?"

The woman looked stunned, moving back stiffly and staying silent all the way. Sherlock didn't comment anything, and the man, his tag said DI Lestrade, had an amused smirk.

"That was..." He muttered, lifting a brow at me. I replied with a small smile and greeted him politely, tailing Sherlock into the house.

I put on the protective suit in what used to be the kitchen on the first floor, noting the heavy smell of blood trailing in the air. As i was climbing the stairs, Lestrade threw me a reluctant glance, like a warning for what i was about to see.

The scene was... gruesome.

There were blood on the bed, slashed on the wall and curtains. A woman's body lied on the heavily stained floor with multiple stab wounds on the chest and stomach. It didn't have a head.

I guested even as a detective, this wasn't something you see everyday.

I stepped into the room, carefully not to touch any trace of blood, and rounded the body to peer at the opened neck. The flesh was incredibly messy, but the joint was detached by a neat and clean cut. If the crime series were somewhat accurate, the main character'd be able to tell the time of death through the state of the dried blood the stiffness of the body (over twelve hours), and the material that caused the wounds (an average kitchen knife, maybe sharper).

Because i was just me, i clicked my tongue, and said evenly, "Ah, yes. Most certainly dead!".

Lestrade made a loud choking sound, and i coud feel Sherlock staring dagger disapprovingly at me. I returned a shrug.

I spent the next two hours watching Sherlock hunching and sniffing every surface of the room, including the body, mumbling and cursing under his breath. Then another two running after the consulting detective to the morgue and the chemistry lab. Also, lurking about some dark alleyways of London.

And how the hell did he managed to draw out the killer's height (six foot one), job (surgeon, no less), history of adultery and type of lovers, even his weird habit of pinching his own thumb, was beyond me.

Lestrade looked like he either wanted to hug Sherlock "thank you", or to choke the man to his death. He settled on patting the consulting detective on the shoulder, and bit us goodbye to finish his paperwork.

.

We shared a cab home, mine first, then Sherlock. The men was silent the whole ride, face stoic and staring straight ahead.

His mobile in my hands <<ping>>, a text flashed on the screen. Then another one. (Don't ask why it's in my hands, i wondered that too.) I didn't mean to pry, but the messages was written in bold and hard to ignore.

[DONT THINK I HAVE FORGIVEN YOU] -JW

[I'M STILL NOT TALKING TO YOU!] - JW

I handed Sherlock the phone. He took one look at it, then at me, than back to the road. His face lighted up like a christmas tree, then dimmed down again. He sighed heavily and opened his mouth.

"Mycroft likes sweets, and cakes, and all things that consiste an abnormal amount of sugar. That's why he's fat and miserable and insufferable and poking his giant nose everywhere. He's currently on a diet. Actually, he's always on a diet. Which explain why he looks irritated all the time."

He grumbled so fast i was scared he'd swallow his tongue. Magically, he did not.

I took out a note, writing down all we did today. The man narrowed his eyes at me, reaching to flip the note of my knee.

"You do know he sign my pay check, right?" I said.

Sherlock didn't answer. He sulked.

.

The next noon, as i walked out if the building to grab lunch, a sleek black car stopped in front of me, door automatically opened.

I swallowed, and stepped inside.

The unmarked car brought me to a small restaurant hidden in a corner. Il looked a thousand time the lunch i was going to buy.

Mycroft was waiting at a private table deep inside the dinning hall. He gestured me to the chair across from his, then a waiter came placing a plate of creamy soup in front of me, and poured me a cup of water.

We ate silently. That might be the best soup i'd ever tasted, and i (tried my best to) finished it elegantly.

Mycroft was looking at me, making my face hot and my chest tickle. I couldn't understand him, couldn't understand myself when i was with him. There was _something_. It might become the end of me one day. And i'd still crave for more.

When the coffee arrived, the man spoke coolly, "About my dear little brother...". He left the sentence there, and i started filling in with my report (minus the "story" part, obviously).

We went back on the same car. His cologne dominated the whole space. I felt like my heart was going to burst. It didn't.

He dropped me in front of the building, gave me a light nod, and left for another meeting.

" _What is Mycroft doing?_ "

.

In the cours of the following month, Sherlock called me to ten other cases, during which i contributed nothing to the solving process and didn't even breath a word about Doctor Watson.

Yet, the detective spilled stories now and then. The time when Mycroft manipulated national media to get rip of the politician he hated. This one time he stopped a nuclear war through one phone call and lots of threatening ("Nasty business", Sherlock scrunched his nose). Or when he twisted the whole student consult to his liking back in uni. All in all, Mycroft was _always_ in control, prompting and plotting, playing with people like they're ants in the palm of his hand. Sherlock despised it, he refused to be one of those morons. (Not something i hadn't guested, according to the way he acted and talked about his older sibling.)

And i continued to report his activities to Mycroft over lunch, at the same place and time.

.

After dessert of the ninth lunch, an unsettling sensation crept up my spine. I took a quick glance at Mycroft's umbrella resting by his chair, then at him standing up from his seat, then at the corner mostly blocked by a large mirror.

 _"Now!"_ Alarms were ringing in my ear. My mind was empty.

I stomped into Mycroft's space, one arm hovering behind his back for support.

"Apologize, Mr.Holmes." I said, before swiping his ankles.

We fell down the ground, barely missed the two bullets. I heard a loud crack from the back as the mirror shattered. Another bullet slipped my temple by an inch.

I reached for handle of the umbrella. Clicked, turned, pulled. Aimed, shot, shot. And a third shot.

Two agents i've never seen before, a man and a woman, dressing as waiters, laid dead on the ground, bleeding from the wounds on their head and chest.

I pushed myself off the floor, slipping next to the mirror to examine the rest of the hall. It was deserted. It wasn't empty when i came in. I turned back at the two bodies, then shifted my gaze to my boss.

Mycroft seemed unfazed, probably this attack wasn't a surprise for him.

"Seriously, Mr.Holmes. Where _is_ your security team?" I asked warily.

He didn't reply, just eyeing me from where he stood by the table, holding the un-handled umbrella in his hand. He had a small smirk on his lips, as if satisfied with what he's seen. It looked almost... mild?

"Unfortunately, public place like this seems no longer suitable for our exchange." He said calmly, not tearing his cold blue eyes off mine. "However, i find your flat meets all the security standards."

My grip on the customized gun tightened.

It _was_ a test, then. The assassination wasn't a fake, no. Mycroft wouldn't waste good human ressources that way. But would he really put his own life on the line just to test my skills? Of course not. Therefore, apparently he wasn't in any real danger.

Did Mycroft set everything up just to legitimate his reason to drop by my flat? Why? He clearly didn't need it last time, he might never need one. Why now?

I didn't know what to say, so i stayed silent.

Mycroft chuckled, low and a bit amused (?), as he walked past me and took the tiny gun off my hand.

"Until next time, Miss Joyce."

.

At the end of the eleventh case, Mycroft appeared at my door not long after diner. I made my report as i drank the new tea he brought from my mug, the man used the fine china cup he left from the last time. We didn't talk about anything other than that. 

_"What exactly was Mycroft doing?"_ , i wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Mycroft's giving some hint ƠwƯ


	4. Doctor Watson to the rescue

"Good morning, Lady Smallwood. You look lovely today, as always."

I smiled at the woman, who narrowed her eyes at me. "Although i appreciate the effort, flattery won't get you too far in this line of work." She said in a stern voice, her eyes blue and bright like the ocean, so different from Mycroft's watery gray, yet just as cold.

Elizabeth Smallwood stood there, her presence was grace and elegance, her words were class. Her sophisticate perfume floated in the air like invisible strings pulling people toward her.

"You think too highly of my ambition, Mylady. For i'm merely stating the truth before me." I replied, my smile was unfazed.

She went into Mycroft's office, and came back out a few minutes later with the man by her side, linking her arm in his naturally. She leaned nearer, like they're discussing some important matters, while the two walked pass my desk. They acted like i wasn't there. But for a brief second, i thought i saw Mycroft's glance when they rounded the corner.

She's been coming here more often lately.

I sat and stared as their silhouettes disappeared from my view.

God, i _hated_ that woman!

Which was very surprising. Ever since i shut down anger, i thought my emotional range'd been reduced to the size of a tea spoon.

I either liked something, or i didn't. It exhausted me to carry anything negative around, hatred was one of it. And i hated her!

I hated her perfect hair and posture and spotless manner. I hated the way she looked down at me - observing and silently disapproving my position, the way she talked - with the subtext that made me wondered why she was so unsatisfied with my performance (i wasn't even her secretary), the sound of her heels clicking on the floor whenever she passed by this hall. But mostly, i hated the fact that she was one of the few people whose cleverness can almost match Mycroft's. I hated that she was closer to him than i could ever be.

I was jealous of her, because of Mycroft.

_Oh, how things were getting more and more exciting._

.

It's late in the evening, the weather was damp and cold, the rusty smell of rotting metal and the tangy scent of gunpowder hanging in the air. And i was pressing my back against a tall metal container, covering my ears from the loud gunshot panging behind me, while kicking Sherlock - hunching wright next to me, in the leg. Honestly, i didn't even know where we were.

Sherlock's been digging this case for weeks, getting all hyped and serious and frustrated. It started as a simple murder; which the consulting detective easily pointed out was the cover of a drug-dealing-arrangement went sideways from the messy foot prints ("Only drug addict walks like that." He said), the tiniest amount of white powder on the kitchenette ("Cocaine, obviously."), and the gun left by the body ("His hands tremble when pulling the trigger. That's why there were two missed bullets. Amateur!"); which leaded us to a well hidden line of drug smugglers; which entangled with a complicated web of human trafficking.

In short, it was a mess!

Sherlock's dragged me about every dubious corners of London before we reached this rotten warehouse by the Thames.

DI Lestrade pointedly forbid Sherlock to act on impulses, but my god, did he ever listen.

So, now i was getting shot at, (and probably going to die), in this middle of nowhere, while worrying that Mycroft was going to kill me if something bad happen to Sherlock. At the thought of that, i kicked the genius again.

Sherlock scrunched his face at me.

- _"What now?"_ \- I mouthed.

- _"Be patient. I timed it perfectly._ " - He whispered through his teeth. Then he made a sign. _-Three, two, one_... -

The shooting stopped.

I took that as a cue to grab a random metal stick nearby, jumped out from behind the container, and swung it toward the two men. I leaped and pushed my elbow at the shorter guy's chest. Sherlock can handle the other.

We barely had the chance to knock them unconscious when i heard loud footsteps approaching. My eyes blew wide at Sherlock, he didn't give any hint. Five men burst through the darkness and surrounded us. _For fuck sake, why did men always have to be as tall as a building?!_

Luckily enough, they didn't have guns. But that didn't mean they're unarmed.

The NYS was keeping tabs on this case. Which meant i couldn't kill these guys even if i can (and i actually had the training to do it). How troublesome!

Three of them sprinted at Sherlock's side, the other two pulled out a knife and started stabbing their way toward me. I dodged and punched. Blocked, twisted and smacked. Swiped and kicked. Leaned back so that they hit each other instead. I can feel the sharp blade slipped by my left triceps and forearm. It hurt as hell! Shite, i didn't sign up for this muddle! (In retrospect, maybe i did know exactly what i was getting into. I was expecting it, in a way.)

I finally managed those two, then turned to help Sherlock. The guy grabbed the short knife next to his feet. I jabbed him, he cut me, we hated each other equally (maybe he hated me a lot more). I poked him some more in the right places and let him fall off on his own.

When i ran back to Sherlock, there was only one guy left standing, behind Sherlock, with his arm around the consulting detective's throat.

_< <Sherlock!>>_

A panicked voice came before mine, along with a loud gunshot.

John Watson stepped into the light, his grip on the gun tighten. He had an unreadable expression on his face. (Actually, i could understand that frown quite well, it spelled "trouble".)

Sherlock shrugged the smuggler of him and stood back up. He flattened his button-up and adjusted his collar casually.

"Oh, John, i didn't kno-"

Suddenly, John lunged at the detective, knocking them both on the ground. He punched Sherlock twice on the face, real hard, then rounded his fingers at the man's neck and shook him vigorously.

"What. Did. I. Tell. You. About. Jumpin'. Head first. At. Danger??!!" He growled.

As Sherlock struggled, John let go of him. He barked a laugh, stood up, kicked the taller a few times, then laughed again, bitterly. His knuckles were stained and Sherlock's face was all bloody.

"I should have known.", His hands flexed and curled by his side, "That you're never going to change..." John laughed at his own stupidity. It sounded more like a broken cry.

"If you wanted to die so much, i'd kill you myself!" His tone harden and darken. He pointed the gun at Sherlock, his hand was steady, too steady. "Then, i'd go with you." John turned the gun at his own head, breathing deeply in and out. Sherlock flinched, his palms shook lightly as the gunpoint went back and forth between him and his lover.

I rushed in between them, feeling like my brain wasn't functioning anymore. I opened my mouth by no words came out.

Doctor Watson seemed startled when he saw me. "You're bleeding." He stumbled.

'I am?" I was confused. So i brought my right hand up to take a look. There was indeed so much blood on my hand, even on my hair and clothes. I wondered whose blood was that. "Where?" I touched my right temple and felt a sharp pain running across my skull.

Apparently, it was mine.

My eyes widen at John, then the man became a blur. Everything became a blur.

I fell unconscious.

.

_< <Wake up, Julianna. Wake up.>>_

I woke up in a too white hospital bed. Everything hurt, and my head was numbed and heavy.

There was someone by my bed side. I realized is was John. Oh, and Sherlock too.

The doctor grinned at me and offered me a drink. The man must be an angel.

"How are you feeling?" He asked. I tried to focus my vision on him, nodded, shook my head, then nodded again.

"It might be a little dizzy. You lost a lot of blood." He laughed lightly.

I took a sip and lifted my gaze at the couple. My mind was completely empty, but John might have taken that as a question.

The man cleared his throat, then offered me an awkward smile.

"Ah, well, Sherlock's a lot of explaining to do", he tilted and eyed the taller pointedly, "but maybe not right now". He pressed a dry laugh, "So, ah- Sorry if i freaked you out last night. I rarely acted that violent."

"He deserved it though." I said, staring back at Sherlock's sulking face.

"No", the doctor dropped his gaze, "i was mad at him. But i shouldn't have... I didn't think i'd... I-" He halted with a deep sigh.

"Julie, i'd like to thank you properly." John lifted his face, there were so much longing in his voice. "If you hadn't been there..." He swallowed, and narrowed his eyes down the ground.

"Really, you saved my life." John said softly, lips curling into a mild grin of acceptance.

 _"No"_ , i thought, looking at bland hospital white sheet like it was something interesting. I didn't save him, Sherlock did. I supposed if they're standing here together, whatever Sherlock's got in his plan, worked. He knew we'd be ambushed at the warehouse, and that i'd sent the text [JW.SOS] to Athena along with my GPS the moment we set foot inside, (all my senses screamed _"not okay"_ after we left the crowded part of London, so i was being extra careful), and that John and Greg'd abandon their pint to get there as fast as possible, with backups. I wondered if the almost-choked-to-death part was in his calculation, but it added quite nicely.

And _"Oh, the clever bastard!"_ , he even counted the fact that even if i figured out all this, (although i believed he highly doubted i could), i wound't tell Doctor Watson. He was right.

But it wasn't because i was a romantic and rotted for this couple of almost strangers. It's because John Watson was a good man, he's been through a lot, and he deserved to be happy. Just because i was born without a heart, didn't mean i have to be cruel.

So, i turned to John and offered him a weak smile, "Well, you stopped me from bleeding my life out. I guess that makes us even.".

John was about to reply when the door swung open and Mycroft stepped in with his usual posh suit and perfect posture.

He sized me, with bandes round my head and an iv on my left arm, making me feel like i was a tiny kidney bean, then spoke coolly.

"Miss Joyce, due to your curent situation, your presence at the office will no longer be needed, as same with your assistance with my brother's work."

He was firing me?!

"Mr.Holmes, i-", panic washed over me. I pushed myself upright, wincing as the room turned like crazy. "It's just some flesh wounds. They heal in no time at all. I can still work. I-". I followed Sherlock, i called John, i bloody _passed_ the lunch test. I didn't do anything wrong. Mycroft can't fire me like this.

"Easy now, easy." John shushed, gently pressing me back on the pillows. "Mycroft can be harsh, but i'm sure he isn't an unreasonable boss."

Mycroft chuckled, he seemed almost amused.

"Of course, i'm not firing you. I simply put you on sick leave for the next three days." His thin lips curled up a bit. "Afterward, i will assured that you have the proper transportation to commute. It's not often, but you can also accompany me when i've got the time."

I gaped at Mycroft dumbly.

I was so confused listening to his words. Then, it hit me. I was staying in a far too expensive private room of a private hospital in the centre part of London. It wasn't by chance. Mycroft bought me lunches, he went to my flat for evening tea, he gave me _two_ new mobile just for the sake of tagging about with Sherlock, he had cctv camera pointed at my front door. Now, he was saying he'd take me to work in the morning (if he had the time).

"Mr.Holmes, if you go through such length, i'll misunderstand your kindness as an employer." I said dryly.

"And what might that be?" He cocked a brow and asked, sounding a bit more amused now .

I swallowed, "That you're trying to woo me.".

Something shifted in his composure. "Maybe i am." He said, mater-of-fact-ly.

I felt the whole room went rigid.

Sherlock scoffed mockingly, "really, Mycroft? She's even slower than John", with a heavy frown on his forehead. That earned him a hard elbow from the doctor. "What?" He grimaced.

"A bit not good." John said, narrowing his eyes strictly at the detective. Sherlock returned a pout, but clamped his mouth shut.

I was still processing what Mycroft's just said, basically staring and blinking stupidly at the man.

"Until next time, Miss Joyce." Mycroft smirked, nodding goodbye to the couple, and disappeared behind the door. He seemed oddly satisfied.

"What- How- Wh-" I spluttered, turning my head toward the door and back at the doctor.

"I think, maybe you should lye back down." John said as he carefully tugged me in the hospital bed. "You might be in a bit of shock." He let out a cheerful laugh and turned to leave, taking Sherlock with him.

I didn't protest, I didn't do anything. Just staying there and staring at the white ceiling in complete bewilderment.

_"Mycroft can't be serious! He simply can't."_

_"It's absurd."_

_"It's impossible!"_

I thought i was, in fact, not in shock.

I was in denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, something's coming up!  
> I'm really excited for chap5  
> ÒwÓ


	5. Privacy vs Mycroft Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we're here ÔvÔ  
> I'm sorry it took me so long to get to the Mycroft-center part. But i dunno how to skip the build-up chapters.  
> Anyway,  
> Yay Mycroft!

I didn’t see Mycroft for the rest of the week. But after i was discharged from the hospital, an unmarked black car picked me up and dropped me off in front of my building. The next few days were a haze, as my brain was trying (and failing) to accept Mycroft’s statement. Because after all my developing feelings for the man, never in my head have i thought about _if_ he’d return it. Sherlock was right, i was incredibly slow, plus my plain appearance and basic personality, so there was _No bloody way_ that Mycroft could have been serious. Just, no.

That’s what i said to myself even when a black car took me to work everyday afterward. The man hasn’t appeared at the office since, so was Athena. I decided to push all this to be back of my head and focus on sorting emails instead. Just, not now, okay.

I was still mostly in denial, until one morning when i opened the door and saw Mycroft sitting there comfortably, deliberately reading a file too thick for its’ poor cover.

“Mr.Holmes?”

“Consider it’s my car”, he didn’t even look up from the papers, “is it really such a surprise that i’m actually using it?”. He’s already talking more than he normally would, with me, to be precise.

I flustered a bit, sliding into the seat next to him, my knee touched his on accident. My heart hitched up for a quarter of second, but the man didn’t react. He casually flipped through the documents as the car hit the crowding road.

“I thought you were joking, sir.” I said, much calmer than expected.

Mycroft sighed exasperatedly, “Julianna, when did i ever have the time to play games?”.

Seemed like his patience was wearing thin, but i’m too stubborn to let this go. “So, you …like, me?”

The man closed his file, then flickered his eyes toward me. He spoke in a husky and painfully neutral tone, “i find you very,” a little hum, “intriguing”.

I blinked at Mycroft and let my mind run back to those tells of him and his world of goldfishes. And i realized that, Mycroft was bored. Yes, he enjoyed his time alone and isolated from people in general, but he’s also bored to death.

And my open “crush” for him, (well, i’m keeping it to myself, but if Sherlock can tell at first glance, Mycroft must’ve definitely noticed), was for once unexpected. It might be something he hasn’t seen in a long time. So for the time being, i’m something semi-not-dull enough to keep around. The newest addition to his collection.

When all this was over, when the man’s finally grown tired of me, i’d be left alone, barely breathing and completely broken. I’d be sad and miserable. It’d be so painful that i might never be able to enjoy life again.

Which is great. Fantastic. Tempting!

_“Oh how i can’t wait for that day to come.”_

I grinned brightly at Mycroft, my heart drumming inside my chess. This was the most gleeful moment i’ve ever experienced. I’ll feel even more _things._

“Well, i like you so very much, Mr.Holmes.”

Mycroft didn’t reply. He’s got a pleased half-smile on his face.

Now, all i should do was to enjoy his attention to the fullest.

.

Frankly, nothing’s changed between us at the office. I was still managing his basic schedules and occasionally stopped any attempt of assassination. He still didn’t bat an eye at me, and spent most of his time in the back office. You know, as usual.

Outside of work though, i didn’t see him that much either.

But sometimes, the man showed up out of the blue and payed for whatever i was going to buy, then disappeared wright after.

So, when Mycroft finally let me _accompany_ him on the way home, i asked.

“How can you always seem to know exactly what i was doing and where?”

“I have my methods, dear Julianna.” He said evenly. I’m learning to read his blanc expression. This one in particular, had some smugly hints to it.

I snorted at him, “it’s the cctv cameras isn’t it? I only saw one, but quite sure there were at least three of them”.

I though the cctv cameras was for Sherlock only. Apparently, they were also following me. I’ve noticed how they turned each time i passed by, i even smiled at the one directed at me. I guessed surveillance’s important, judging from how easily the detective got into trouble.

Then again, would there necessary be three at the same time?

“Oh no”, he chuckled. His low voice rang through my ears and spun round my head. He waited until i was off the car and heading into the building, and nodded me goodbye.

“There were seven.” He said, before the car started speeding out of my sight.

.

Sometimes we went on proper dates.

He took me out for diner. We had brunch at a small café on the weekends. We went on picnic at the park, feeding the ducks and watching people wandered. Mycroft even agreed to teach me how to do basic deduction.

We went to a ballet once. It was magical.

Mycroft was magical.

I’ve never felt livelier than whenever i’m with him. I was light as a feather on cloud nine. Every fiber in my body trembled in the most comfortable rythme. It felt like my heart could burst out anytime, yet it didn’t.

.

I marked each of those days on my calendar with a little heart in different pastel colors.

Mycroft hated it, i can tell immediately from the frown on his face, thinking it’s a waste of time and energy.

I did it because i cherished those moments with him, and because he’s important to me. And i told the man just that.

He seemed stunned for a second, before his whole body soften and a gentle smile appeared on his face. He chuckled and pulled me into his arms.

Mycroft looked at me, drowning me in his grayish blue eyes. His stares were always so intense, they made my face all hot and nervous. I wondered if he could read my mind, i wonder if he could tell how much i wanted to touch him.

Mycroft leaned down and kissed me. It’s was slow and so, so tender. He put one hand behind my nape and the other at the small of my back, i stretched my arms and embraced him. The kiss tasted like the chocolate sorbet we had for dessert, a tad bitter and then lingering sweet, and as mild as the way it melted on my tongue. It also tasted like cigarettes’ smoke and burned woods, and ashes, and emptiness.

Something bloomed and ached at the same time inside me.

.

Before i was able to realize it, Mycroft seemed to have filled my world.

He tabbed almost every place i went and the people i met. There’s always a car waiting for me when i was out late, and texts sent to me when i was at the bar.

[Have fun.] – MH

[you, too] – J

[But don’t drink too much.] – MH

[yes, sir] – J

[That’s about enough for tonight.] – MH

[just another pint, pretty pls] – J

He’s even made sure all my friends knew he’s my, umh, boyfriend, and told them to stop their little matchmaking game. Aunt Patrica’s been talking my ears off with, quoted, “ooh~ how handsome he is”, “how polite men are so rare these days”, “how good of a catch he is”, “eee” and “aw~”, etc. etc.

It can be annoying and definitely too much on normal standard. But i found it endearing. Mycroft’s being, well, Mycroft.

 _“Mycroft”,_ i can call him now, _“my Mycroft”_. I let the words rolled on the tip of my tongue. I liked the sound of that. I liked it a lot.

Even when i was dreaming, i dreamed of pressing my cheeks on his straight and sturdy back, of listening to his steady heartbeats, of his amazing patience and perfectly concealed fondness when he talked about his brother.

Maybe i had fallen far deeper than i thought i could.

Maybe i was in love with him.

I wouldn’t say that i’d die for him, no. I haven’t reached that state yet. But it seemed like we were getting there, very, very fast.

.

“Hey Julie, are you free for a pint after?” Rémi asked with a hopeful glint in his gaze. He’s new at the club, we paired together for the first time today.

He’s not bad, with wavy blond hair and ideal manly figure. Lots of girls fancied him.

Three months ago, i might say yes. Now though, i tilted my head at the door way and smiled widely.

Mycroft’s standing next to the big mirror in his three-pieces suit, one hand resting on his umbrella, and stared disapprovingly at the younger man. Rémi shuddered, as he should be. Mycroft looked like he might drill a hole on to the poor man with said man dared move closer.

I sprinted toward him, and tipped my toe to peck on his lips. “Miss you too.”

Poor Rémi might be having an internal meltdown.

It’s not his fault, he was just very unlucky.

.

Of course i didn’t stop going to dance classes. I’ve got a life, remember?

I just added another section onto my schedule, a waltz section with Mycroft.

He was a great dancer. I’ve expected no less. But he’s simply amazing.

“I don’t like that place.” He said, tone painted with distaste.

I giggled. “You don’t like the people, or you don’t like me interacting with them?”

The man hummed, like he was really thinking about it. “Both”, he said in a bored tone.

I laughed aloud, curling myself and rested my head on his chess.

“Jealous?” I teased a bit more.

Mycroft stayed calm and collected like always. “How did you come up with such silly assumption?”

I eyed the man carefully, then grinned at him. “I’d like to think i’m not a terrible reader.”

He hummed again, but didn’t argue.

People often said Mycroft was hard as iron and cold as a frozen desert. And he did indeed live up to that reputation. But he was also very different, at least in my view.

Mycroft was warm.

He was a living, breathing, brain always functioning man. He was much more clever than most human being, but human nevertheless. His hands was steady, his lips soft, his voice low and calming. His presence felt safe and reassuring, his hug was solid round my back. His touch filled with care and tenderness. And no matter what he said or how much he denied it, Mycroft cared. He cared for this country as much as he’s worried about his family. He just had his own way of expressing it. A very manipulative, highly calculative, and overwhelmingly unconventional way.

“He loves you”, i said, “you do know that, right?”.

Mycroft furrowed his brows at me. “He?” I looked deep into his eyes and nodded slightly.

The man rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way, letting out a heavy sigh. “Julianna, i reserved a whole studio for this dance, and you want to bring up another man in our conversation?”

I sniffed a laugh, “well, do you?”.

He didn’t answer, his gaze passing right through me. I took this silence as a “no”. I’ve never thought that word could sound so hollow, so … lost.

We circled the room another time, before the music ended with a long tottering e-sharp that pulled you off balance and down the freezing dark water.

“I love you, Mycroft. Just making sure you know that.”

We stood there in each other’s embrace for what felt like hours. Finally, i felt the lightest nod above my head as the arms around me tightened.

Mycroft needed more appreciation. Really, people didn’t thank this man enough for what he’s done.

I didn’t think i could help much, but i’ll try my best anyway. To be completely open with him, be simple, honest, sincere. To make him, even for a little bit, happier.

_“My Mycroft.”_

He’s not just my boss anymore, he’s mine, as long as he’ll let me.


	6. Trouble came knocking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if you find the waltz part annoying. I know nothing about dances ỢvỢ

It’s been four months, two weeks and five days since i started _officially_ dating Mycroft, and exactly one month since the day i realized i loved the man.

Funny how being in love with Mycroft didn’t make me suddenly have feelings for other people. My emotions stayed as quiet as always whenever i wasn’t with him or not thinking about him. I still had absolute no affection toward aunt Patrica or even my best friend Helen from uni. My sweet Helen, the kindest person i’ve ever seen (wright next to my lovely aunt), too gentle and patient with the heartless me. Yet, all i could do for her was acting like the perfect friend she’d want, being there for her, saying empty sweetness that i actually meant but couldn’t pull out any sentimental evidence.

Up till now, he was the only one. The lighthouse to my ocean of darkness.

It’s just that, i needed Mycroft more than he needed me, or if i was honest with myself, the man never needed me in the first place.

So i already know that one day, this will end, i’ve been waiting. I just didn’t know when.

.

On the night of my twenty-sixth birthday, i cooked a dinner for two and made the orange soufflée Mycroft’d like. I bought flowers to add a bit more lush color to my cozy flat. I dressed the table, plated the dish, and put on my favourite summer dress.

I waited, and waited. And waited.

I ate twice the portion i usually would. I watched the cake deflated slowly, shrinking into itself and losing all its’ visual appeal, before digging in with my ceramic dessert spoon. I didn’t drink anything. Mycroft was supposed to come with the wine.

He didn’t.

I didn’t get any text either. (Mycroft always texted me if he couldn’t make it on time. He hated not being punctual.)

 _Oh_ , i thought, _maybe this was it_.

When i closed my eyes that night, i fell back into a blank space void of all emotions, back into nothingness.

I thought _i_ ‘ve made some progresses. Is this emptiness an improvement, too?

.

[you didn’t call] – J

…

…

[where are you?] – J

…

[is everything okay?] – J

…

[Athena, did something happen?] – J

I never got an answer from her.

.

Mycroft hasn’t been to office for over a week. Neither has Athena.

There wasn’t any sign of him at his mansion or at the club either.

As meetings started to stacked up and unread emails lined up to the moon, the office remained calm and silent, unnaturally so.

Whatever it was the project i wasn’t a part of, it must’ve gone haywire.

Something churned in my stomach, restless and unsettling.

Something was certainly, most absolutely wrong.

.

I went to the only place i could think of, Baker Street.

I climbed up the tube, rushing with every step.

Wright when i reached the stairs by the pavement, the old black door swung opened and Sherlock greeted me with a half frown on his face.

“Ah, Julie, great timing! ‘Was just about to text you.”

He pulled to the side so that i could slide in, then closed the door behind us with a loud thud.

I went up the stairs two at a time.

“Hello Julie, tea?”, John poked his head out from the kitchen, “make yourself at home.”

I nodded at him, then put my bag down the couch and took the seat near the door. The doctor placed the newly brewed tea mug in my hands, i grinned _thank you_ at him. He gave me a strained smile, there was undoubtedly tension between his shoulders.

Before i could say anything, Sherlock stomped into the room and clapped loudly.

“You’re obviously here to ask about the recent absence of my brother.” He flopped down his sofa, tilting his head at me. “I have good news and bad news.”

“Good news is the lack of his meddling big nose in _any_ of my case is heaven sent. Bad news is our dear British Government has been abducted and now is in need of being rescue. In retrospect, that sounds very much like good news too.”

I felt like my heart’s just dropped down the floor.

“Where is he now? How bad is the situation?”

“Somewhere in Maribor, Slovenia. Seems like some brainless politicians annoyed the underground network there. What a bunch of idiots. Apparently, my dear brother was mistaken as one and got caught right in the middle.”

Sherlock sipped his tea, then blew out a long breath.

“As much as i wanted them to keep him forever, i’m afraid England might fall on itself. And that’s very bad for the trafic.”

“We need people we can trust. Are you in?” He glanced at me with a deep scowl on his face.

I blinked at him, then at John, and unconsciously ground my teeth. My face was so pale the doctor’d think i might faint. My back was cold listening to Sherlock, now it was boiling. Something bubbled inside me, fuming hot, releasing steamed in my veins and up my head. I knew this feelings, i haven’t had it in such a long time, and never this intense.

I wasn’t just angry anymore. I was furious!

My grip on the cup tightened as i narrowed my eyes at the coffee table.

“Of coures.”

.

I immediately followed the couple to the back door of an office building. Athena let us in and leaded us through the maze of corridors to a study several floors underneath the ground. She looked exhausted and distressed.

On our way here, John’s filled me in with some more details. Athena was caught too. They were nine in total, kept in separated rooms and randomly pulled out to torture. For fun. It took her three days to locate Mycroft, three more to fake her body and break herself out (luckily they thought women were too fragile and didn’t suspect further), and one day to find a trusted contact an report the situation, plus a five hours flight and more reporting afterward. Seems like she haven’t slept since setting foot back in England.

I watched her explained the plan as my nails dug into the flesh of my palm.

Mycroft wasn’t involved by accident, he was trying to collect some intel from their organization, information crucial enough that he had to go himself. Things really did go pear-shape.

Now, we’re on two mission, extracting Mycroft and getting the intel.

The head bastard, Nik -something, was going to hold a social party tomorrow night, at the very estate where they kept the captives in the basement. He’d most likely come down to check on the politicians by the second part of the night. We’ll have two teams, one for the info and to provide distraction, while the other silently retrieve Mycroft. That’s when i fit into the plan. The guy have some certain… obsessions with women with smaller frame and thin bone structure, in other words, women like me. I’ll have to approche the man and get his full attention in order for both missions to go smoothly.

Problem was, i wasn’t a trained intelligence. I was well prepared for combat in all disstances, yes, but the pre-MI5 program could only cover so much on how to be a spy. Meaning, basically nothing.

This was urgent matter, and we’re terribly short on human ressources. The question wasn’t _if_ i’ll do it, but _can_ i do it right?

I flexed and curled my fingers in and out to stop them from shaking, feeling like having a thousand ants crawling under my skin.

“You’re sure about this?” John pat my shoulder softly, having a very worried frown on his face.

I glanced up at him, then at the mirror on the opposite wall. I dropped my forehead down my clapped hands, inhaling deeply, letting out a breath, long and steady, then broke into a wide sparkling smile that send chill down my own spine.

“I’m sure.”

.

I arrived at the party, dressing in fancy clothes and expensive perfume. The makeup team did some changes to my general feature so that no one here would recognize me directly afterward. Next to me was my (faked) fiancé/one from the rescuing team, who was surprisingly a familiar face, or more precisely, his partner was a familiar face. Which brought us back to the semi-conversation we had about 8 hours ago.

<< _I was discussing more details with Athena and Sherlock when someone walked in the room. I had my back at the door, so i didn’t see who it was, but i felt a light tingle behind me head._

_That someone was about to hit me._

_Before i could think, my fighting mode kicked in. I blocked his attack, grabbed his arm, twisted it, and knocked him face first on the ground. As i pressed my flower pin on his neck, i heard two clicks at the back of my head._

_Another person was pointing their gun at me while John pointing his gun at said person._

_“Julibee, dearest, pumpkin, honey bun, it’s really you! I haven’t seen you since forever!” The guy under me let out a sloppy whine, finally breaking the tension. I’ve heard that voice before, but couldn’t recall exactly whose._

_“Wait, you know him?” John asked warily, still not lowering his gun._

_I let the man go, moving quickly to the doctor’s side, watching his partner pulled him on his feet._

_The guy who tried to attack me was almost six feet tall, well build frame, sandy blond hair, looking overly smiley and amicable. His partner was half ahead taller than him, a bit on the slender side, more elegant with dark brown hair and glasses, and much more composed._

_Yes, i actually have met the blond guy, almost two years ago. “…No?” I shrugged at John, replying reluctantly._

_“I’m wounded.” The guy hugged his chest and sighed dramatically. “We’re best friends during trainee days.”_

_“More like acquaintances.” I grimaced._

_“Nooo. Best. Friends!” He whaled. “I couldn’t believe in my ears when M told us you’ll join us on this mission. I thought you’re off the system?”_

_“I was”, i said simply, “i’m in another system though.”._

_The shorter man grinned unapologetically and stretched his hand at John. “I’m sorry. That’s terribly rude of me. I’m-“_

_“Late!” Sherlock snapped at him sharply, glaring at the couple. “John, Julie, agent Logan Holland and agent Alain Youngs”, Logan waved enthusiastically at the mention of his name, the other just rolled his eyes, “also known as double-o six ‘duo’. They’ll be executing the rescue mission. Agents, everyone else you don’t need to know about. Now, stop wasting my time and listen.”_

_Logan’s jaw squared and his face shifted to stone cold, all business and serious matters._

_“Understood.” He said courtly. >>_

We all had a new set of identity and background. I was Rosaline – a young lady of the higher society, growing up in a very strict and traditional household. Taking me here was Alain, or Ian – heir of a Duke somewhere in England, who got the invitation in the first place.

My apparence at the party (as a perfect fit for the host’s interest) was informed to the man immediately. But how could i captured his attention?

While Rosaline’s obviously excited to be here, her fiancé wasn’t. He was cold to her and ignored her most of the time.

After the third dance, Rosa was left alone.

That’s when Nik stared moving toward her.

But the most precious prize was the one that’s hard to get.

So just before Nik could talk to her, another man came and invited her for the next dance. Rosa looked around, searching for her fiancé to find him flirting with another woman, then narrowed her gaze in disappointment and accepted the stranger’s hand, letting him guided her to the center of the hall.

The music rose and the couple floated smoothly through its’ melody.

The Vienne waltz was said to be the most difficult yet mesmerizing dance. The perfect choice for tonight.

Stepped, stepped, turned, twisted, lifted, turned, three more steps, then leaned. And repeat.

We picked Logan because he was the better dancer of the two. He put his arm lightly on my upper shoulder, i rested my left hand on his shoulder, his other hand supporting mine in the air.

It reminded me of my dance sections with Mycroft. We went much slower, but just as effortless. Those moments were solely for the two of us. Gentle pace, as the sound of our heels matched perfectly with the rhythm. Entangled space, as he held me tight and close. Tender touches, as our lips met ad i knew i woudn't want to kiss anybody but him. Drowning gaze, as if i was the only thing in his mind. And a few low chuckles. Those were intimate moments.

Logan’s a good partner, but not the one i wanted. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want this dance. I only wanted Mycroft.

 _Focus Julie!_ I mentally slapped myself to snap me out of the silly thoughts. _Focus!_

When the music ended, Logan hugged me near his chest and looking deep into my eyes. I looked right through him, my mind filled with images of Mycroft's fond smiles. Those were ever so rare.

I blinked at him, dazed and fluttered, and curled my lips into the sweetest smile with my cheeks pink and my eyes creased like half moons.

Logan parted his lips a little.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Don't do that Julibee, or i'll might fall for you for real."

Alain timed it perfectly, stomping in and yanked me away from the strange man, dragging me to an isolated corner. His face was so red with anger, i though he might actually burst.

We yelled at each other. He accused me for being unfaithful, i argued, he threatened to beat me. He slapped me, i fell of balance and down the floor. He turned and walked away. I called him, but the man didn’t look back.

“Ian… Ian…” I broke into tiny sobs, burring my face in my hands to hide my tears.

I saw the man approaching from the corner of my eyes.

_Now, let the real show begin._


	7. Mission Impossible

Rosaline stood alone, sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands, her thin shoulders shook softly, desperate and fragile. She startled as a hand touched her hair. Rosa looked up with tearful glassy eyes and redden cheek.

"Excuse me, miss. Are you okay?" The man greeted her, speaking with a quite strong accent.

"Oh, ...i'm fine", Rosaline dropped her gaze, stumbling for words, "i'm sorry. I'm...". She struggled to wipe the tears from her face, "i'm sorry if i've disturbed your time here. I- i'll leave right away.", she said in a shaky voice, turning on her heals.

"Oh no, no, no." The man stepped to block her way, smiling charmingly at her. "I'm sorry he treated you badly like that. Don't leave, i'm delighted you've come tonight."

He chuckled, realizing that he's forgotten some importants things. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Nik-", something, "the host of tonight's party. It's a pleasure to have met you here." He smirked when i gasped in surprise.

I looked at him, and all i could think of was the days they kept Mycroft down at that awful place and the possible terrible things they might've done to him. I wanted to punch him right on the spot. _Nobody touched my Mycroft!_

I gave him a small smile, a bit shy, a bit uncertain.

"I'm Rosaline. But you can call me Rosa. Pleasure's all mine."

"How about i invite you a drink? It's my party after all." He grinned a bit too eagerly, but young Rosa was too at loss to notice. She looked small, confused and alone, a perfect prey for the hunter. His smirk grew wider, and darker.

My eyes widened at him as i bit my lower lip.

"But i-", i blushed and dropped my gaze down my trembling hands, "i'm-".

"Oh, kitty cat, i wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." He grabbed my hands and pressed a light kiss on the back of my palm.

I gave him a tiny nod and hesitantly took his arm as the guy leaded me back inside.

Nik took me to a big private room with two giant guards at the door. He nodded at them, then walked me inside, gesturing me to sit down by the beautiful coffee table. The man poured me a glass of champagne, which i accepted with a grateful smile.

I took a sip, and a bit more.

After a while, i felt extremely dizzy. The glass fell of my hand and shattered on the floor. The room became blurry and hazy. "...what-"

Nik's face broke into a sickly evil grin as he watched me fell unconscious.

.

I fluttered open my eyes, taking in the general surrounding, hearing Nik's low murmurs from the outer room through the ajar door. I was lying on a metal table, hands and feet surprisingly untied.

"Don't disturb me. I'm having some fun tonight." He told the guards.

Nik's dragged me into his inner chamber, the one he used for his special female _guests_. It's fully equipped with various torturing devices. Apparently, the guy also had a _thing_ for knives.

The room would be carefully soundproof, once the door is fully locked. How convenient.

I grabbed the nearest heavy object, then returned lying on the table, and waited.

I heard the door clicked twice, then came his footsteps and ugly laugh.

Right before Nik could touch me, i swung the object at the side of his head and knocked him out. I tided the man up tightly on a chaire, taped his mouth shut, then slapped him a few times to wake him back up.

He's got a very funny expression on his face.

"Here's the deal, you tell me where you keep the documents, and i'll save us some times by knocking you unconscious 'till your minions notice, yeah?"

Nik glared at me, surely throwing foul words if his mouth's not already taped.

I pouted lamely at him. "I'm afraid this isn't negotiable. I wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." I picked up a small paring knife from the shinny set on the tray, and drew the tip from his nose to his throat, down his chess and abdomen. I stared into his panicking eyes and stabbed the knife in his left thigh. The guy let out a pained muffled cry, squirming vigorously to no avail. His face twisted in a mix of agony and anger, and disbelief.

No wonder some liked torturing people. Violence made you feel good. Dominance, great. But the screams, the screams were even better than great. It teared through the air and vibrated through every fiber in your body. It felt _bloody_ fantastic.

I didn't see Nik anymore. All i saw was red, livid and destructive red. I wanted to rip him apart limb by limb. I wanted to beat him all bloody and hear him cry for mercy. He didn't deserve such thing. _Nobody who hurt Mycroft deserved mercy._

I licked my lips and fluttered my lashes at him, "how about now?", as i thrust the blade further into the wound.

He nodded in fear, ugly tears rolling down his swollen cheek.

"The documents?"

Nik was surprisingly cooperative after that.

Turned out some hidden forces were trying to developpe and produce a new kind of chemical weapon. This was their first complete-sample batch. Nik's organization run much deeper than expected, and this guy was unlikely the _real_ boss, being this stupid.

I clicked my tongue as i flipped through the research papers and examine the small test tubes. The toxicity and health damages it could cause appalled me. This explained why Mycroft had to collect it himself.

_Shite, this is much worse than i thought._

I packed everything neatly back in its' case and turned toward the man.

"You're not the best host, but thanks for your generosity." I ruffled his head, then hit him again, hard enough to put him out cold and muddle his memories of the last few hours. I also injected him with the liquide compound Athena gave me for good measure.

I fixed the the scene, making it seemed like he accidentally cut himself, erased any traces of my existence, then grabbed the case and followed the secret path directly down the basement.

We've got a team taking care of the video surveillance of all our apparences at the party, so i didn't have to worry about that. One trouble crossed, the fewer the better.

I rejoined Logan's team, finding Alain supporting a barely conscious (but still responding) Mycroft on his shoulder. Mycroft was obviously starved and dehydrated, but otherwise had no visible injuries. (Luckily for Nik, or i'll come back i gut him myself.)

The four of us fled the party as quiet as possible. We switched vehicles twice, and sped to the designated private airport.

Now i knew action movies often made rescuing mission ended in intense shooting battles and ridiculous explosions, but really, this type of operations could only be considered successful when it didn't cause a sound, let alone a scene.

As the plane took off and back to England soil, i could finally let out a breath in relief.

Mycroft was here sleeping soundly in my arms.

_Mission accomplished._

.

Mycroft hated hospitals. It's clear like the only ray of sunlight on a gloomy day of London.

As soon as he opened his eyes and registered the space around him, there was unconcealed repulsion on his face.

"It's just one night Mycroft." I said casually, helping him sit up and poured him a cup of warm tea from the thermos, the tea i knew he actually liked. "Either here or Sherlock's calling your parents."

Mycroft drank his tea slowly, his scowl returned the moment he heard me mentioning his parents.

"The situation was completely under control. Nothing major." He grunted. "And what does this have to do with my little brother?"

"To put it simply", i hummed, "he saved you out".

Mycroft brows shoot up in surprise. Both operations were in fact directed by Sherlock. All the planning and plotting, arranging medical support, and then examining the samples we brought back.

"What did you bribe him with?" He asked, voice skeptical.

"Oh don't be silly, brother dear." Sherlock strolled in, pouting at the question. "I'd be delighted to see they kick your arse. Which they actually managed to do."

He regarded the older up and down, then huffed in disappointment.

"Really brother dear, you couldn't have talked your way out of it? Has the years of boring office work rendered you round and dull?" Sherlock cocked a brow at the older.

"Not as much as domestic life did you, i suppose.", Mycroft responded cooly, "you've gained five pounds in the pass four months, brother mine. Quite impressive i believed."

Sherlock made a face. "Four and a half."

"John and i agreed it's five."

The detective turned to his partner with a betrayed look on his face. The doctor returned a shrug. Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but a nurse came in and cut him short.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, ma'am, visiting time is over. Our patient need a good rest. You can come back tomorrow."

Both Holmes let out a loud grown, Sherlock at being interrupted, Mycroft at the fact that he had to spend the night at the hospital. (He avoid it like the plague.)

The nurse ushered us out the door, then closed it gently, smiling apologetically at Mycroft. "Good night, Mr.Holmes. Please ring us if you're needing anything." Mycroft must've given her a nod, cause the young woman let out a sigh of relief when the room's finally behind her.

It might be a tad wicked but i found it quite entertaining watching people shook like willow tree just for the sole presence of Mycroft. No wonder the man considered someone who wasn't intimidated by him "interesting".

The thought made me sniffed a laugh. Sherlock gave me a judging glance (in a manner that was very similar to his brother), i just waved him off. As Doctor Watson negotiated a late diner with Sherlock, i bid them good bye and returned home.

The office's waiting for me tomorrow.

.

The next day, i beamed at a tall figured as he passed by my desk.

"Good morning, Mr.Holmes."

Mycroft was in his fine suit again, umbrella in hands, calm and collected and simply perfect (and also extra busy). He nodded at me and went to his office.

I sighed happily, sinking into my chair and humming a little.

Mycroft's back.

It felt great. It felt right.

.

On our first date after the rescue mission, Mycroft took me to a lovely indian restaurant, booked a private room just for the two of us. Maybe make it four, since Sherlock freely marched through the door with a worried John tailing him, and settled in the spot next to his brother.

Mycroft looked thoroughly annoyed and John looked like he'd strangle the detective again if the tension escalated.

"To what do i owe the pleasure of you disturbing our peaceful evening, brother mine?" The older asked coldly.

"Don't be so self-centered brother mine. Not everything is about you." Sherlock scrunched his nose, then clicked his tongue and turned toward me. "Actually, it is i who owe Julie here another story about my dear brother."

Mycroft's brows knitted together as he eyed me questioningly. I gave him my most innocent grin and shrugged lightly.

"And Doctor Watson?" Mycroft drummed his fingers on the table impatiently.

"My date, obviously." The younger rolled his eyes.

Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "As you wish."

Diner proceeded as normal, in much more harmony than i've expected. John was clearly the easygoing one and the peacekeeper for this couple of siblings whenever he was around. He was also very caring and witty. No wonder women adored him, the men too, Sherlock's jealousy must've gone off the roof sometimes. I mentally giggled at the image.

"Now, to our main part." Sherlock smacked his lips when the deserts arrived.

"Do pray tell, little brother." Mycroft put on his most politician half-smile that might've scared the soul out off a dozen diplomats at the same time, and said slowly.

"When i was seven, Mycroft used to yank me up at the middle of the night, pushed me down the wine cellar and locked me their for hours." Sherlock said, after a spoonful of crème brûlée.

"He did What?" John asked in complete horror.

Mycroft's body tensed visibly.

"Don't worry John, it wasn't all that bad, expect it was fucking freezing and i only had a night gown.", the detective continued.

"And you stayed there?" John glanced at him in disbelief.

"Of course not." Sherlock scoffed. "I picked the lock after the third time. I went to find Mycroft, he was sitting with some of our distant relatives, discussing _grown up_ business. More like he tolerated their complains and existence. They've got some rather colorful remarks on me, not very positive i'm afraid. Anyway, their vocabulary and creativity were shockingly poor. And they were loud. I'd have heard them from my bedroom right above."

"Afterward, i came back down the wine cellar and stayed there like i should."

"Don't worry too much, Mycroft made sure they wouldn't inherit one single penny from our great-great-grandmother. And since he became the British Government, they haven't had one easy day in their life. Served them right."

The room fell into absolute silence.

"So", John started hesitantly, "you're saying Mycroft's done that to protect you?".

"Debatable. He might just enjoy making my life difficult and watching me suffer. Can't really tell the difference though."

The doctor hummed for a long moment.

"Why do we hate Mycroft again?" John asked. Sherlock refused to answer, Mycroft had an amused smirk on his face, and i burst out laughing.

Of course the Holmes brothers were as different as they were alike, but there was still another detail i just came to realized.

Sherlock was hated by most people he met, that's not hard to see or point out why. Those who loved him however, spoiled him rotten, would definitely turn the world upside down for him (Mycroft obviously had, more than once). Even Sherlock knew this. He acted like he didn't need anyone, but really, one can only be so reckless when he knew exactly what he had to fall back onto.

Mycroft on the other hand, i doubted he's ever believed he had someone to rely on.

He might walk like he owned the world, (and he probably could), but it also gave the impression that the man himself was his only support, (maybe plus Athena). Every step he took was result of careful calculations. There was no place for mistakes or regrets, and eventually, no place for poor judgement made by the effect of sentiments. It's one of his _gifted_ skill-set, mastered and polished to perfection over the years, but it didn't mean it wasn't tiring using that skill.

Now though, i hoped he could see that the care was mutual. That his efforts and good intentions weren't in vain or unrecognized (although slightly unwanted most of the time). That he could have a rest if he felt like needing one, and lean on his dear little brother Sherlock.

As i was sitting here, watching his posture relaxed and his lips secretly curled into a small mild smile, i thought Mycroft must've noticed that too.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921868/chapters/26942748 by https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigynstark  
> They haven't updated any work since the end of 2019, so i don't know how to contact them. ;;^;;  
> Any coincidences detail is unintentional.  
> I'm really sorry if you find them too similar. I'm trying to be original.  
> Please don't react to harshly.  
> Thank you.


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